Trauma - Book 5 (Hospitalia Hetalia Medical Fiction)
by Hospitalia-Medicine-Hetalia
Summary: (Patient: Switzerland) Switzerland is a bit shaken up about something, so he goes onto the shooting range hill to calm down. But is it a good idea to be on a sandy hill in the wind, with no eye protection?
1. Accident

_*Switzerland's POV*_

I straighten the collar to my green coat, tighten the strap to my rifle sling, sigh with relief, and head up the steep, rocky hill to the shooting range. My shiny, black boots crunch against the pine needles, pinecones and asphalt below them, and the wild wind ruffles almost violently through my wheaten blonde hair.

This blustery day is one of those frustrating ones where I just need to get away and relax. Focusing on what makes me happy can calm me down. And that would be shooting at the targets on the hill beside my house.

As I trudge my way up the hill, my sore thighs are a sign of exercise and energy to me, which makes me feel better. When I see the shooting area, golden sand glimmering in the sun, I smile to myself on the inside, and speed up to a trot.

The second I reach the sand, I pull off my rifle sling, and take my favorite, shiny, silver rifle out. Dropping the tan, leather backpack into the sand, I get into a good shooting stance, and aim for the targets that are a good fifty feet away.

When I feel like I have a good aim, I pull on the trigger, and free a bullet. Only seconds later, there's a "_pop_," which signifies I hit the target.

Feeling energetic, I shoot at the target a couple more times, before strolling up to it to see where I've hit it and how many points it would've been in a competition.

As I pace, the wind speed picks up. It finds its way under my coat, making me shiver slightly, and whips my hair around my face. I lift my foot off the ground, trying to move against the force, when a whirlwind of sand comes right towards me, and hits me in the face.

I feel the impact of the grains of sand slapping me in the face like tiny bullets, but the majority of the grit ends up in my eyes.

Suddenly, the wind throws me to the ground, as I yell in fear, and try to stand up. The whirlwind gets worse, and makes the sand dance around me, causing even more of it to get into my eyes. Giving up on my attempts to sit up, I collapse onto my side, but that only makes matters even worse. Sand flies up, and all the grains try to squeeze their way into my tear ducts. And after only seconds, my vision is taken.

It doesn't stop the sand from flying into my eyes; it just keeps going. I scream in pain, as my eyes itch, burn, and feel like they've been stabbed with forks all at the same time.

"HELP! HELP ME!," I screech, sand coating my tongue. "IT BURNS! IT BURNS AND I CAN'T SEE!"

_*Lichtenstein's POV*_

I'm in the kitchen making myself some honey tea, while Vash went out to do some shooting to calm his nerves. I stroll into the living room with my little cup, and sit by the window in my armchair where I can watch nature, and relax.

It's a beautiful day; the sun is shining, and a few, fluffy, white clouds dot the aquamarine blue skies. No wonder Vash likes to do his shooting outdoors; it's all so calming and gorgeous outside. It's also a pretty windy day, as the trees dance in its power. I sure do hope Vash is being careful!

As I take a few sips of my tea, the wind begins to blast its way through the trees, knocking a few loose branches to the grass below. Less than a minute later, I hear a scream, and it sounds like Vash's voice.

Getting a little bit nervous, I place down my cup, stand out of my chair, and smooth down my magenta skirt. I peer out the window, trying to see the top of the hill where Vashy is, but I just can't - it's too far away.

Just then, there's another faint yell from the distance:

"_HELP! HELP ME! IT BURNS! IT BURNS AND I CAN'T SEE!_"

I gasp, automatically recognizing the voice as Vash's. Quickly as I can, I run to my bedroom, pull on my white ballet flats, and yank on my light green windbreaker, zipping it up. Without thinking about anything else, I dash outside, and hurry up the hill.

The wind gives me a few dominating shoves causing me to trip over my own feet, and my flat make me trip over a few loose logs. But nothing stops me from following the sound of my big brother's desperate screams.

At the top of the hill, I see a flash of green in the middle of the sand. The wind finally comes to a halt, so I sprint over, sand filling up my flats, and kneel beside Vash.

"Big Brudder!," I cry over his frantic screeching. "Are you okay?"

I look down at his pretty face to see him drooling down his chin, gritty sand in the spit. He's crying as well, but instead of tears, it's a thick, yellowish liquid, almost like mucus or pus.

"Lilli?!," he bawls. "L-Lilli! WHERE ARE YOU LILLI?!" I remember Vash screaming that he couldn't see, so I assume he doesn't see me. I touch his temples, rubbing them softly.

"I-I'm right here, Vashy," I whisper softly. "I'm right here. Th-there's nothing to be afraid of. Wh-what happened?"

Vash lets out another yell. "I-it's my eyes!," he wails. "THEY HURT! IT'S BURNING LIKE HELL! GET HELP, LILLI! PLEASE!"

At first, I don't know who I should get help from. I could turn to Elizaveta or Katyusha. Probably even Ludwig Beilschmidt, if the time's appropriate. After going through a mental list of everyone I could go to, I reach into my jacket pocket, and pull out my flowery, candy pink Kajeet. Hands shaking, I hit the call button, and dial in _112_.

The phone rings as I lift it to my ear. Seconds later, someone picks up.

"112, what's your emergency?," a soft, male's voice says.

I'm shocked, as I've never made an ambulance call, and I'm worried about Vash. At first, I say nothing.

"Hello? Are you hurt? What's going on?"

"M-m...my brother's eyes are hurting!"


	2. Ambulance Trip

_*Lichtenstein's POV*_

No more than twenty minutes after I call the ambulance, the white vehicle comes rushing down the street, and park at the bottom of the hill. Although I don't see it at first, I hear the blaring sirens, when my eye catches a blazing glimpse of ruby and azure lights.

"Don't worry, Big Brudder," I whisper to Vash, who is still screaming, as my voice shakes violently. "Help is here right now."

Two paramedics come up the hill with a stretcher, and kneel down beside Vash and I. The one with the mousy brown hair looks to me. "This your brother, miss?," he asks me.

"Y-y-y-yes, h-he is," I answer, feeling really shy, and very nervous still. The man nods, and turns to look down at Vash.

The second one with black hair unbuttons Vash's jacket and begins to use the stethoscope on his chest.

"What's his name?"

"H-his name?"

"Yes ma'am. His name."

"V-Vash."

"Vash. Very interesting. His last name?"

"Zwingli."

"Vash Zwingli. Very well. How old is he?"

"E-e-eighteen, mister."

"Alright. Thank you, miss."

The black-haired one takes off the stethoscope, and places two fingers upon Vash's neck. I remember his ex-friend Roderich, who is a doctor, telling me that it's how you take one's "pulse." So I guess they're taking Vash's pulse.

The man touches his wrists, a spot right in front of his ear, and the insides of his ankles. "Heart and pulse are racing at the speed of light," he says more to his partner than to anyone else.

The light brown haired one leans down to Vash's ear. "Shh...calm down. We'll get you to the hospital," he reminds him. "Just relax. Relaxation is key here. We'll look at your eyes in the ambulance."

Both men lift Vash onto the stretcher, and stand up. I do too, and follow them down the hill and into the ambulance. In the vehicle, there are two other men, one with golden blonde hair and the other with chocolate brown. Light brown and blackie place the stretcher with Vash, continuing to yowl and cry, on the bed.

"Alright, son, alright," the golden blonde haired one says, pushing me to sit down beside him as he stands up to look at Vash. "Just try to calm down. It's time to calm down."

The brown-haired one pulls Vash's arm from his sleeve, wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm, places the stethoscope on the inside of his arm, and pumps air into the cuff. At the same time, black-hair pulls down Vash's lower lids, shines a small flashlight into his eyes, and tries to calm him down. "Son, I'm going to have you tell me if you can see this light," he says.

"I-I can't!," Vash bawls. "I'M BLIND! I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING!" The paramedic nods, and looks closely at his waterline for anything unusual. It makes me nervous in a sense.

As he looks, the brown-haired one releases the air from the blood pressure from the cuff, and unwraps the cuff from Vash's arm. "He's got a very high blood pressure," he tells his colleagues. "This screaming and crying isn't helping him very much. He needs to relax."

The one with light brown hair turns to me. "Miss, do you know any ways to calm him down?," he asks. "He's nothing but stressed right now and needs comfort."

I nod nervously. "Y-yes, I-I-I...I do," I respond timidly. Golden blonde gets up, and motions for me to sit where he was sitting. "Go right ahead," he says.

Swallowing heavily, and my heart pounding, I hold Vash's hand in mine, and run a fingertip inside of his palm. "Vash," I whisper to my Swiss brother. "It's going to be okay. I know it burns, but you need to relax now. Th-these nice paramedics are getting you to the hospital so you can get your eyes fixed. It's time to relax...just relax..."

I hush Vash a bit longer, using a lax voice and a compassionate tone. And within minutes, he finally calms down. The tears of mucus still run down his cheeks, but he stops screaming so much, and it is reduced to quiet weeps and snivels.

The one with the brown hair pats me on the back with his rather large hand. "That was perfect, dear," he says, beginning to take Vash's blood pressure again. "It's still quite high, but it's a bit better than before."

Once we make it to the hospital, three of the paramedics push the stretcher down the hallways of the emergency room. The light brown-haired man takes my hand, and leads me down a different hall of the emergency room.

"Wh-wh-where are we going mister?," I ask him, looking around the cold hallways in shock.

"To the waiting room. So you can wait for the doctor to finish checking your brother in a safe place," he reassures me. "He'll tell you what's going on as soon as he can, not to worry."

We walk down the hall, and he takes me up a very short flight of stairs, and into another room. The halls are painted a nice color of cream, and there are a few chairs and benches in the area, with a desk up front. The paramedic leads me to a couch, and places a pillow in my arms.

"Just wait here, 'kay?," he says softly. "Lie down if you need to. The doctor will be done with your brother soon."

We say our farewells, as the paramedic goes out the door, and back down to find his colleagues. I sit on the bench, looking around the room at the other patients sitting there, as I think worriedly about what's going to happen to Vash.


End file.
